Oh! [ now he gets it! it's even visible in his eyes, the spark of recognition. ] Yeah, once had a client who had all these collectibles, like, giant figures of these robot things. Haven't seen any movies, though, maybe we can put those on the list? You know, along with 80s records and city pop.
[ their little list to find things here and introduce each other to them, he likes that.
and then it dawns on him, what exactly he said, and he feels a bit like kicking himself, because while he's pretty nonchalant over his own death (or, more accurately, has learned to talk about it as if he's nonchalant while burying his actual feelings over it very, very deep), it's... not exactly a topic that living people tend to appreciate.
instead of apologising, charles shifts in place, moves his leg just slightly so it's pressed up against junpei's there on the floor, like the contact might help with what's going to follow. because then he tilts his head back, eyes focused on the line between wall and ceiling, and talks, quiet and yet terribly matter-of-fact, ]
There was this new guy at school, Aysar. From Pakistan. St. Hil's was, I told you, stuffy, right? And the lads, well, they weren't... great, always, but they'd never treated me like I was too different. But for some reason — anyway, saw them beating him up one day, like, it was real bad. So I pulled them off of him, told them off, because if they beat him for being Pakistani, well, how was I any different, yeah?
[ he chuckles, then, or maybe scoffs — it's hard to make out which the sound is supposed to be. ] Well, turns out I wasn't, not when I wasn't going along with them. It was November, and — they threw me in the lake, threw rocks, and — well, we were all in the cricket team, so the lads could throw. [ and yet, charles hadn't really realised how bad it was; not with the cold of the lake numbing him to the worst of the pain, not with thinking i've had worse, i've had worse, remembering the time his dad had thrown him down the stairs — in any case, he'd thought he'd be fine. sore, but fine. ]
I hid in an attic, you know, thought I'd just stay there for a tick. But it was real cold, and I couldn't dry off, and... well, turns out hypothermia kills just as much as internal bleeding does. [ he sighs. ] Not sure how many hours it took.
no subject
[ their little list to find things here and introduce each other to them, he likes that.
and then it dawns on him, what exactly he said, and he feels a bit like kicking himself, because while he's pretty nonchalant over his own death (or, more accurately, has learned to talk about it as if he's nonchalant while burying his actual feelings over it very, very deep), it's... not exactly a topic that living people tend to appreciate.
instead of apologising, charles shifts in place, moves his leg just slightly so it's pressed up against junpei's there on the floor, like the contact might help with what's going to follow. because then he tilts his head back, eyes focused on the line between wall and ceiling, and talks, quiet and yet terribly matter-of-fact, ]
There was this new guy at school, Aysar. From Pakistan. St. Hil's was, I told you, stuffy, right? And the lads, well, they weren't... great, always, but they'd never treated me like I was too different. But for some reason — anyway, saw them beating him up one day, like, it was real bad. So I pulled them off of him, told them off, because if they beat him for being Pakistani, well, how was I any different, yeah?
[ he chuckles, then, or maybe scoffs — it's hard to make out which the sound is supposed to be. ] Well, turns out I wasn't, not when I wasn't going along with them. It was November, and — they threw me in the lake, threw rocks, and — well, we were all in the cricket team, so the lads could throw. [ and yet, charles hadn't really realised how bad it was; not with the cold of the lake numbing him to the worst of the pain, not with thinking i've had worse, i've had worse, remembering the time his dad had thrown him down the stairs — in any case, he'd thought he'd be fine. sore, but fine. ]
I hid in an attic, you know, thought I'd just stay there for a tick. But it was real cold, and I couldn't dry off, and... well, turns out hypothermia kills just as much as internal bleeding does. [ he sighs. ] Not sure how many hours it took.